


The Third Act

by mokumera (apricari)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Assault, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Torture, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricari/pseuds/mokumera
Summary: “I can’t stay here forever,” Ace says quietly.“You’re dead, for all the World Government knows.”“How long will that last? A few months? A year?” Ace looks at him. “If they do catch you with me on your ship, they’ll execute you. Tashigi, all your men.”Smoker does nothing to keep the want out of his kiss. Ace gives in to it, making small noises that seem loud in the quiet room, against Smoker’s lips. His skin is hot to the touch, almost too hot. Smoker chases it, running his hands over every inch, lets his hands burn.
Relationships: Portgas D. Ace/Smoker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Third Act

**Author's Note:**

> This is directly inspired by a fic written by an author named Fire Tears (Alena). In 2008 Alena posted a short two-chapter fic called Splinters to fanfiction.net. You can read Splinters here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3990056/1/Splinters
> 
> In 2008, I was reading all the Smoker/Ace fic I could get my hands on. Alena’s fics were among my favorites. It was during this time that I decided I wanted to be a writer. 
> 
> With the release of OP’s 1000th chapter, although I haven’t read OP in over ten years, I’ve found myself thinking about this ship and reading old fic...
> 
> And so I was inspired, by Splinters and by Alena’s other works, to write this. I haven’t been able to find a way to contact Alena to ask if I may post this continuation. If someone happens to know Alena and knows how I may contact them to ask, please comment or tweet me @/mokumeraa. Alena, if you find this fic and are not okay with my posting it, please let me know.
> 
> This work is unbeta’d. Thanks so much for reading.

Ace is white-knuckle gripping the armrests of the chair, but he’s smiling. His face has a slight sheen. Smoker can see he’s trying not to twitch away from the blade near his neck.

“I’ve contacted G-7 and confirmed our arrival date,” Tashigi is saying. “Vice Admiral Pembroke will brief us during our port stay. Are two weeks still anticipated for shore leave?”

“That’s right. After a month at sea it should do us all good.”

“Yes, sir. About the most recent reports from Headquarters...”

Ace licks his lips and says something that makes his captor laugh.

It’s the perfect day for sailing. Enormous white clouds pass overhead, throwing spots of the sea into shadow. The wind is expected to hold favorable for the remainder of their voyage. Smoker draws on his cigars and exhales as he listens to Tashigi. The thought of reaching port was appealing. The knowledge that he would have to report to G-7 was not.

“Well?” The kid asks from the chair. “How do I look?”

Suzu, their doctor-barber, removes the cloth, and Ace stands. Dead lengths fall to the deck, and the kid shakes his head, scrubbing a hand through his freshly cut hair. He looks relieved.

“Too long,” says Smoker. The kid could tie it back. “It’ll get yanked in a fight.”

“You mean you’ll yank it,” Ace says under his breath. Before him, Tashigi turns red. “Doctor?” Ace turns to Suzu and bows. “Thank you very much. Please, let me clean up—I insist.”

“You’re welcome, young man.”

“L-lunch should be underway by now, Commodore,” Tashigi pipes up, straightening her glasses. “Will you both be joining...?”

“I’ll be along shortly,” Smoker tells her. She salutes and follows Suzu below deck. Ace sweeps hair over the side until they’re gone. Then he lets out a harsh breath, and laughs.

“Just a fucking haircut,” he mutters. He works his shoulders, like he’s forcing himself to relax. “Dunno what my problem is.”

“Over now.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sweeps with some agitation. A cloud passes overhead, shading the deck. “You’d think after two months of being free, I could stand a damn trim.”

The cloud passes, and the water gleams in the sunlight. “It looks better than the mop is was before.”

Ace tucks his hair behind one ear against the wind. “Some compliment.”

-

The kid is starting to fill out again, gaining back muscle from training with Smoker’s men, and it comes with relief that Ace is slowly losing the lean look starvation gave him. He still gulps down food like it’ll be snatched away from him, but now his shoulders tense when someone gets too close to his place, before he remembers himself.

It might not have been Teach, exactly, who broke Ace, but seeing Ace on that island after eighteen months gave Smoker an idea of the conditions. His scars are like a map of it, from the knife wounds at his throat to the rings at his wrists from his shackles.

If Smoker has one regret, it’s that he didn’t arrive in time to get a piece of Teach himself.

“Portgas, wake up.”

Ace startles out of sleep, flame skating down his arms. “Wha...”

“Lunch is over. Let the staff clean up.”

The kid wipes his face and follows Smoker out of the mess hall. “Wasn’t done,” he complains.

“Then you shouldn’t have passed out.”

“Can’t help it, y’know. Hello—”

Suddenly Ace is approached by a small group of Smoker’s men, all of whom Smoker recognizes as being on break. They look eager. Smoker scruffs the kid’s head and starts to walk away. He listens; they’re inviting Ace to something, a game of cards. Ace is politely declining where he would’ve joined before, to the disappointment of Smoker’s men.

-

In the evening, Ace ties his hair up and joins in for the free sparring the men have allotted to them. He has nearly every day since they left port. The fighting is an exorcism for him, Smoker thinks, seeing his stance and the spark in his eyes. A necessary expulsion of energy.

He doesn’t shift into fire, even if it meant gaining a new bruise or scrape; it reminds Smoker markedly of himself when he was younger, right after he’d eaten his own Devil Fruit, determined to become stronger without relying on the new power. He takes on three rounds of a half dozen of the men at once, weaving and sweeping their feet out from under them, but he can’t manage it without expense; by the end he’s doubled over and panting. A year and a half kept in seastone chains would make even the best fighters weak.

During break, the men are collapsed on the deck themselves, being coached by the observing Lieutenant Littlegrove, while Ace’s head swivels around to find him.

“Old man,” the kid greets, huffing (Smoker’s men gulp at the name). “Wanna jump in?”

“Scorch my ship and I’ll come kick your ass, brat.”

“Would like to see you try. Aren’t we due for a rematch? How long has it been?” He stretches, smirking. “Though, I think fighting here would be a little obscene, don’t you agree?”

“Watch it, Portgas.”

The kid throws his head back and laughs, and it’s genuine. It makes the men laugh too, albeit nervously. He gets back up.

“Alright,” he says, swiping sweat away from his forehead. “Who’s next?”

A broad soldier steps up, rolling his shoulder with a cocky smile on his face—Pierce, Smoker recalls his name, not a particularly bright one, but strong. He’s bigger than Ace, and no doubt confident in it, but Smoker knows how wily the kid can be, and expects Pierce will end up on his ass in minutes.

They grapple, Ace throwing Pierce over his shoulder, but Pierce hops back up and sails for Ace, who dodges. Their fight is clean, as are the rules, though Ace is on the defensive. The exhaustion seems to be getting the better of him—Pierce manages to pin him down, and they wrestle on the deck for a moment, flipping each other, trying to get a steady grip. Smoker watches it in slow motion: Pierce’s thumbs press against Ace’s collar, too close to his throat, and the bright flash of fire flare up instantly. The shock in Ace’s eyes.

Pierce shouts, hands flying away from Ace. He rolls off him, holding them out. They’re bright red from the burn.

“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, Pierce—“

Littlegrove steps in. “He needs the infirmary—”

“I’ll take him,” Ace says. Littlegrove hesitates, but nods.

Ace takes Pierce away, Pierce holding his hands gingerly in front of him. The other men are muttering, shuffling about, unsettled. “Alright,” Littlegrove barks, “you’re all dismissed. Return to your schedules.”

-

Pierce is released from the sick bay later that night on limited duty. The burns are somewhat severe—second degree. Smoker can see the blisters in his mind’s eye.

“I’ve assigned him counts with Dryer for three weeks,” Tashigi reports. “He’s in high spirits...” she bites her lip. “I don’t think he blames Ace at all, sir.”

Smoker takes a deep drag. Ace hadn’t returned to his rooms yet.

“And Commodore, Officer Gau is improving,” Tashigi continues, “though Suzu would like to discuss his progress with you tomorrow.”

“Alright. You’re dismissed.”

She has a worried twist to her mouth as she leaves.

Late that night, Smoker wakes up to Ace climbing in bed beside him. He has a hunted look, and he avoids Smoker’s eyes.

“Sorry,” he says. “Pierce is okay.”

Smoker doesn’t know what to say. He circles an arm around his waist and pulls him in, ignoring Ace’s sound of surprise.

-

Ace vanishes the next morning after breakfast. Smoker tamps down the impulse to keep track of him. Possessiveness was not new to him in regards to Ace, but he was used to denying it. Now, it cropped up everywhere, even being able to follow the kid’s fire.

Smoker goes to the sick bay in the afternoon to visit Suzu for Officer Gau’s progress. When he opens the door, he finds Ace there, dressed in Marine-issue scrubs and making up cots.

“Commodore,” he says, while Smoker stares. “No smoking in the infirmary.”

“The hell are you doing here?”

Ace moves around him to the next cot. “Suzu said he could use the help, so I offered. I...used to help the nurses with Pops sometimes. I know a little.”

Suzu had never once told Smoker he needed a additional medic. He’d have to thank the old doctor later.

“Figured I’d better pull my own weight around here, or you’d kick me off your ship,” Ace continues. There’s a little light in his eyes as he focuses on folding sheets.

“Damn right.”

“Now...” He holds out his hand. Smoker grinds his cigars out on the kid’s palm. Ace grins. “You’re here to see Gau, aren’t you? He’s this way.”

Smoker follows him to the only occupied cot at the end of the bay. His officer looks brighter than the last time Smoker visited, and seems to perk up when he sees the kid. As ever, Smoker finds himself watching Ace more than minding Gau. Ace is focused, attentive and calm, but keeps his humor; he cleans a spot on Gau’s arm, pokes him, and draws blood, all while making the sick officer smile.

He seems...happier.

“Cared for by a pirate, Gau?”

“I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” says Gau. “But the new medic here has been a valuable addition to the sick bay.”

“I have excellent bedside manner, according to Suzu,” Ace says, bandaging Gau’s arm.

“‘S true, sir, if it’s alright to say...”

“Thank you, Gau.” Ace smiles.

“Take a break, young man,” Suzu says, approaching. “You’ve done plenty this morning.”

“Alright, Doctor, thank you,” Ace replies. He cleans his tray, strips off his gloves and mask; Smoker watches him wash his hands out of the corner of his eye while Suzu talks about Gau’s progress. “See you, Commodore,” he says on his way out of the bay.

“Are you paying attention, Commodore?” Suzu accuses.

“I’m paying attention.”

Gau laughs hoarsely from his cot. “Can’t blame you, sir, if it’s alright to say...”

“Watch it, Officer.”

Suzu draws the privacy curtain around Gau’s cot and guides Smoker back to the closed off area of his office. He sets his glasses down on the desk. “Don’t think I’m going easy on him,” he tells Smoker. “I’ve got him working with urine samples and scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush.”

“Good,” says Smoker. Suzu laughs.

“I like having him working in here. I can keep an eye on him this way.”

“He’s talking to you about it?”

“I take it he’s not talking to you about it.”

“No. I’m not about to push him.”

“No,” Suzu takes a deep breath. “I don’t think you should, Commodore.”

-

Smoker returns to his rooms that night to find Ace already there, dozing in his bed. He sheds his coat, pants, and boots and lies beside him. Ace’s eyes open. He looks at Smoker blearily.

“Hey, old man.”

“Earlier ‘Commodore’ and now ‘old man’?”

“Yeah. Can’t let your new title go to your head.”

Smoker thinks he might have a comeback, but he finds himself watching Ace silently. In his bed again, like he is every night now. Around them, the ship creaks and sways. Ace’s eyes are dark, watching him back.

He thinks of Ace in the sick bay earlier that day, his deft hands and easy voice, knowing exactly what to do. It had been a surprise, before, though he knows the kid can be clever, knows those hands well—

“Horny old man,” Ace accuses suddenly.

“Goddamn mind reader.”

Ace grins. “I’m not. You get a face.“ He pushes Smoker’s shoulder until he’s on his back. “Believe it or not.”

“You were asleep.”

“I’m not now.” He sits on Smoker’s hips, runs his hands down his chest.

“Kid.”

“C’mon and fuck me.” Ace grinds his hips down. His ass rubs Smoker’s dick through his shorts. The look on his face is what catches Smoker; lips parted, eyes closed, savoring. “Been too long.”

They haven’t had sex since Ace came back from the dead. There were touches, hesitant and fleeting, clumsy at times: Smoker had never been one to initiate touch before, and now Ace keep to himself far more than he used to. The times he does seek contact are private and innocent. It feels, painfully, like they’re getting to know each other all over again.

Ace kisses him, and Smoker feels it as sunlight on his skin after a long, dark winter. It quickly turns hungry. Ace moans at the invasion of his tongue. Tendrils of smoke wrap around their bodies, and again it’s like Smoker can’t help touching Ace everywhere he can reach. He hadn’t been able to for so long.

They part, gasping. Smoker wants to kiss his neck, but doesn’t yet. He strips Ace’s shorts down. Ace laughs.

“What?”

“Let’s take it slow, old man,” Ace says, voice like a song. “I’m not going anywhere.”

So unlike how they started, those years ago, right after Alabasta, when they had been frantic for each other. Before they’d known each other’s bodies, each other really at all—when it was all carnal. Smoker can still taste it on the back of his tongue, like matches.

Now, their need for each other is a constant low burn. Smoker had felt it the entire time the kid had been gone. Ace’s hips fit in his hands the same, and he traces the scars there with the tips of his fingers. He comes to life when Smoker touches him like this, moving in his old way. The sounds he makes are heady and familiar.

Now, Ace stays when the morning comes.

“Where’d you go?” Ace asks.

“Nowhere.”

“Liar.” They shift until they’re both undressed and Ace is under him. His back is scarred like the rest of him: deep scratches disfigure the tattoo, latticework. Ace grinds back against him and makes a low, satisfied noise, back arching. “Think about me, mm?”

 _I was_ , Smoker aims to say, but he can’t manage it. He runs a hand down Ace’s back, to his ass and thighs and to his flank, holds him there. He’s hard already, Ace’s heat drawing him in—but no fire, yet. He ruts his cock against Ace’s ass, closes his eyes. He hasn’t felt this in so long. His other hand finds Ace’s hair and tugs.

“Stop. Stop, alright?”

Suddenly the kid is wriggling to get out from under him; Smoker lets him move. “What is it?”

No eye contact. “It’s nothing,” says the kid, but his chest is pulling in breath like he can’t get enough air. He turns onto his back. “Just...let me see your face, alright?” Smoker nods silently. Ace sighs. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Forget it. Where were we?”

“Portgas.”

“What? C’mon,” the kid’s arms circle his neck and pull him down again into warmth. Fire flickers up to lick at his skin, but Smoker shifts before it can burn him. Ace’s kiss is messy, just on the edge of desperate. Smoker could never help but to kiss him back; that has never changed.

“Thought you said go slow,” Smoker says into his mouth.

“Want you too bad.”

Smoker thinks of Ace burning Pierce and how Ace has used sex as a distraction before. He thinks of Suzu and wonders if this is a good or a bad thing; decides there’s no real way for him to know right now without trying to force Ace to talk about things he doesn’t want to talk about.

But Ace is beneath him, open and needy. Damn if he could ever stop himself when they got to this point.

Smoker reaches between them to close his hand over both their cocks, to feel the way Ace’s stomach spasms with surprised breath, with another little lick of fire. The kid lets out a low swear. His neck arches, and Smoker’s mouth waters. He kisses him instead, stroking them both.

No fire. Smoke strokes his skin, and Ace’s skin is searing, but he doesn’t light up. “Alright?” Smoker asks, low.

“Fuck, yes. Keep going.”

They thrust together at a languid pace—Smoker keeps it slow and steady to watch Ace squirm beneath him and ask for more. His dark hair is in tangles around his face, mouth open and flush, breathing harsh. His smile is blissful. He’s distracted by pleasure, and good or bad, Smoker intends to keep it that way.

Ace meets his eyes. “What?”

“Just looking.”

“Oh...like what you see?”

“I might.”

“Please,” Ace gasps when Smoker’s thumb circles the head like he knows Ace likes, smearing precome. He pumps them with his hand, thrusting into his grip to drag against Ace’s cock, and just the touch and the noises Ace makes are enough to get him close. Ace’s hips seem to move beyond his control—he’s close too.

“That’s it,” Smoker says into his ear. “Good boy. Come for me.”

Ace makes a broken sound and hot liquid spills across Smoker’s hand as Ace shakes apart beneath him. No fire, like there usually is. Soon he’s twitching, skin sparking, like he wants to flare up but won’t. Smoker frowns and starts to draw away. “No,” Ace gasps, gripping his arm. His eyes are averted. “Keep going.”

Smoker listens, fucking the tunnel of his hand even as Ace is shivers from overstimulation. “Fuck, yes,” he gasps, “C’mon, old man, make it good. Know you wanna come on me...”

That’s all he needs; Smoker jerks and comes over Ace’s stomach, mind white.

Ace stretches out on the bed while Smoker gets a towel. He reaches for it, but Smoker pushes his hand away and wipes it across Ace’s stomach himself, ignoring Ace’s soft look of surprise. Before Smoker can move away from him, Ace takes his face in his hands and kisses him softly.

After, he spoons up behind Ace—trying not to seem like he’s being careful. Ace catches him anyway. For a moment he wears a scowl, but then he sighs.

“You don’t have to...do that.”

“...I think I do.”

“Just...don’t treat me like I’m fragile.”

“You’re not.“

“Uh-huh.”

“Kid.”

“What?”

He can feel the kid’s heartbeat against his chest. Smoker doesn’t know how to continue. He recalls the shock in Ace’s eyes when Pierce had pinned him down, the heat of his skin but the lack of his element. “Tell me what you need,” is all Smoker can think to say. He presses his face to Ace’s crown, nuzzles his hair, kisses him there soft and private.

For a moment, he thinks Ace might scoff at him, or laugh, and he curses himself. “Nothing,” Ace says finally, quietly. “I don’t need anything.”


End file.
